


fix it

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Extra Treat, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Maybe they're doomed, who knows? But that would mean everything they went through was for nothing. Stephen can’t live with that future. He’s seen too many where the world ends, where all worlds end and the whole of life collapses. Stephen will do what it takes to make sure those futures don’t become a reality.Even if it means raising Loki. Even if it means giving up his own life energy to do so.
Relationships: Loki/Stephen Strange
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Red Team





	fix it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miri Cleo (miri_cleo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miri_cleo/gifts).



Stephen spots him in the back corner of a mirror. It’s set up in his study, an antique oak-framed piece of glass with a Victorian arch. One of many such artifacts in the Sanctum before Stephen’s arrival. It does not seem to hold any significance beyond its appeal to the original designer’s tastes.

Loki takes up the bottom right corner, his eyes daggered at Stephen’s reflection. He’s wearing the same suit as their first encounter; Loki no doubt intends to make a point with the callback. Stephen is too tired to guess at it.

He isn’t surprised by Loki’s appearance. It was only a matter of time, but a different time would have been preferred. Ideally a time when Stephen’s hands did not shake with their current level of insistence. Stephen feels weak today. Some days are better than others since the event. He knew they would be, it would be silly to bemoan the fact now.

“I’m busy,” Stephen tells him.

“I don’t care,” Loki replies. More cordial than Stephen expects given their first meeting.

Stephen turns from the mirror, and Loki stands in front of him. His teeth are grit like he’s angry, which Stephen supposes happens a lot with him. Loki neglects the black tie that accented this ensemble the first time they met. The top button of his collar is undone. Underneath, blue and purple bruises blemish his neck. A god of Loki’s vanity isn’t careless enough to expose vulnerabilities without intent.

“They’re getting better,” Stephen says, nodding towards Loki’s blemished throat. “The bruises were much darker when I last saw you.”

“When you last saw me,” Loki echoes, eyes narrowed and lips tight.

Stephen got the better of Loki once with the element of surprise on his side. Loki is smart enough not to make mistakes twice. He also has more raw power - the strength of one of Jotunheim with every ancient trick of seidr craft at his disposal.

The energy needed to care doesn’t want to come. The Ancient One would say to never lose one’s purpose under the weight of their burden. If she weren’t dead.

Stephen wonders if he should alert Wong to stay away until whatever Loki wants is done. Even a task as small as a warning beacon feels daunting.

“Interesting.” Loki has one of Stephen’s hands too fast for Stephen to back out of arm span. Given what he is, his skin is surprisingly warm. Loki turns Stephen’s scarred fingers around for inspection. “I didn’t notice these on our first meeting. They must make the practice of your meager mortal sorcery quite difficult.”

“Good days and bad days,” Stephen says. Loki lifts his head at the response, like he’s surprised Stephen gave him a straight answer at all.

His mouth twitches before he looks back down. “So, what was it? Spell gone wrong? Were you captured? Tortured?”

Stephen shrugs. “Crashed my car.”

Another glance, this one with an actual smile attached. It’s less biting than Loki’s usual blade-grins but somehow feels more dangerous. His thumb scales the thickest of Stephen’s scars along the broad flat of his thumb.

Stephen wrenches his hand back, and Loki’s expression becomes something more familiar. Stormy eyes and a thin snarl. “Why am I here?” he demands.

“You tell me,” Stephen replies. “I didn't invite you.”

“‘Here’ in the metaphorical sense, you child. ‘Here’ as in alive. _Why_?”

Stephen turns his back. It doesn’t matter, of course. He nearly bumps into Loki. An about face finds another Loki. And another to his right. There are three others blocking the exit from the study. And another, oddly, splayed across Stephen’s sofa.

Stephen stills in the center of a crowd of identical Lokis. He folds his arms over his chest. “It’s less impressive when the person you’re trying to fool can do the same trick,” he says.

“A lesser version perhaps.” All ten speak as one. “Everything you do, everything you are, is child’s play. You think you understand the forces of the universe. You think they bend to the will of your pathetic mystic arts. You know nothing. You’ve seen nothing.”

Stephen takes the only open avenue, a path to the window overlooking Bleecker Street. The streets of New York are quieter than they once were. Bleecker Street on a sunny afternoon resembles a lazy lane in suburbia. Fat green leaves on nearby trees block the entire sidewalk from view. A mother jogs alongside a child on a tricycle. The thump of a nearby speaker makes the glass shiver under Stephen’s hand.

“I’ve seen enough,” Stephen says.

He’s watched by the sole, true Loki only. The others recede to the spring of magic they rose from. Tension bunches Loki’s shoulders under his suit jacket. His pale hands form fists at his sides.

“I died,” he says. “Not of the stones. I died by Thanos’ hand. My brother can vouch for that.”

“He did,” Stephen says.

Loki’s flinch is subtle. “What was done by Banner, by Stark, by you, should have impacted only those cast out by the stones. None of you have the power-”

“But you’re here,” Stephen points out.

Another flinch, this one sharper. “You had no right!” Loki barks.

Stephen turns back to the window. He’s known this confrontation would come. Only, the time isn’t right today. Weariness hangs off his shoulders like the Cloak he normally wears. The same Cloak that currently hovers in the open doorway at the rise of voices. Without facing it, Stephen shakes his head. The object lingers for a moment longer, a show of reluctance. But it leaves finally in a flutter of fabric.

Stephen hurts. Pain winds cobra-like down his arms and branches through every joint of his hands. He should invite the opportunity to rile Loki’s never-tiring tongue. It’s too much today.

“What did it take?” Loki demands behind him. “What did you do?”

“What needed to be done,” Stephen replies wearily. “I wasn’t aware that a second chance at life would be such a burden.”

Though, he supposes few understand better than him. Stephen has grown so much since he woke in his hospital bed and found the mess that remained of his hands. But he still remembers the anger he felt, the despair, the hopelessness. If they couldn't bring him back right, what was the point in bringing him back at all?

“Second chance?” Loki laughs, but he doesn’t explain the joke. His sleek black shoes click across the floor as he joins Stephen’s side.

Loki takes a curious look out the window, but his expression flattens with boredom. He turns instead to Stephen. “So, what now?” he asks. “You’ve raised me from the grave, and I am presumably in your debt. What do you expect to gain from this newfound partnership?”

“Partnership.” It’s Stephen’s turn for a laugh. “Right.” With a heavy breath, he sets his back against the window and looks Loki in the eye. “You’re to help with New Asgard. Assist the returnees settling in. Work with the Valkyrie. Protect it while Thor is off-world.”

Loki’s face slacks with genuine surprise. Stephen can only wonder what he was expecting as the terms of their bargain. “Thor put you up to this then?” he wonders. But Loki's mask returns quickly, a scowl twisting his lips. “Even in death, I’m left to clean up after my oaf of a brother.”

“Resources are limited since Thanos, and New Asgard could be a target of any number of threats. Intergalactic, interdimensional. The Kamar-Taj can’t have people on hand all the time. And, I’ve gotten the feeling the people there would take better to one of their own anyway.”

“One of their own,” Loki echoes with a snort, but he still looks startled, and not altogether dismissive. “And what of your so-called threat list? The thing you so blithely acted upon on my last foray to Midgard.”

Stephen shrugs. “Recent events have led to a...reprioritizing of that list. We can revisit that if you decide to act up.”

Loki’s eyes glint in warning. “If I decide to ‘act up,’ you’ll be the first to know,” he mutters. Stephen has no doubt. “So, as long as I contain myself to New Asgard and act in its best interest, my side of the bargain is upheld?”

Stephen nods. “Simple as that. If things go well, I may reach out to you on other matters. Your input or participation will be your own choice.”

“Other matters.” Loki scoffs. “The many threats seen and unseen that will no doubt come for this pathetic planet with Thanos gone, you mean?” At Stephen’s affirmation, he chuckles. “You and the fools who worship you have no idea what’s coming. Your sorcery is a farce. You’re barely out of diapers, claiming mastery over forces as old as your planet itself.”

Stephen nods again. “Which is why I may reach out to you.”

Again, surprise, Loki’s mask shattering into something bordering astonishment. “You would turn to me for counsel? The monster who tried to conquer your beloved planet and hand it to Thanos on a silver platter?”

“We know that wasn’t you,” Stephen tells him. He tucks his curled hands against his sides. Bracing his sore fingers against something is a distraction if nothing else.

“You...know that wasn’t me,” Loki echoes. He snorts and turns, his throat a long, bruised line of disdain. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

But Loki’s side profile betrays the thoughts going through his head. The realization that - yes, Stephen must know. They all must know after Thanos. After Gamora and Nebula. After seeing the past and the future. Why Loki did what he did is no longer a shameful secret smothered by a manic grin.

“Your participation is your own choice,” Stephen repeats. “You can say no. As long as the other conditions are upheld, you’re allowed to stay on this planet for as long as you wish.”

Loki barks a caustic laugh. “Are you Midgard’s authority on all things beyond the mortal scope now?”

Stephen sighs. “You could say that, sure,” he says.

“No wonder this planet is doomed,” Loki mutters, but he doesn’t deny Stephen’s status.

He does give Stephen an appraising look, a long side-eye up and down. Stephen doesn’t bristle quite as much as he should. He must be getting used to scrutiny. There’s been plenty of it since Thanos, with their numbers withered and the world trying to rebuild.

Maybe they're doomed, who knows? But that would mean everything they went through was for nothing. Stephen can’t live with that future. He’s seen too many where the world ends, where all worlds end and the whole of life collapses. Stephen will do what it takes to make sure those futures don’t become a reality.

Even if it means raising Loki. Even if it means giving up his own life energy to do so.

Too fast, undetectable to human eyes, Loki snatches Stephen’s right hand from his side. Stephen’s left balls with energy, a warding shield pulsing to fiery life. Loki’s free hand twirls a dagger, casual, pose more than intent. Stephen frowns at the look Loki gives his hand. Laser focus, glaring intent.

“How much did you give me?” Loki asks. “Your life energy. How much?”

Stephen would have given it all if his life meant everyone else survived. But he stays silent and still, save his right hand trembling in Loki’s grasp. Pain twitches through his fingers like sparks shocking them one by one.

Loki turns Stephen’s hand to the palm. He closes his fingers with it, mouth pursed in thought. With his head down, loose hair spills over his face. “I can fix it,” Loki says.

Stephen frowns deeper. “What?”

“It would help if you told me what in the nine realms you did instead of choosing the worst time to turn into a mute.” Loki punctuates his point with a glower. Surprisingly, he is the first to discard his weapon. The dagger in his free hand recedes to wherever his power allows him to keep it.

Huffing, Stephen lets his shield drop as well. Loki’s hand is warm in his, and the tremor in his fingers dies to occasional twitches. The pain has been constant the whole day, and with even the slightest break the tension wants to bleed out of him.

“I don’t expect you to fix anything,” Stephen tells him. He speaks carefully. “I told you my terms. New Asgard is your focus now. Anything else is extra.”

“And I don’t like living in someone’s debt,” Loki mutters. He glares at Stephen. The annoyance is hard to take seriously with their hands still joined in a soft embrace. “Especially not an infant sorcerer who seems to have a habit of reaching far beyond his means.”

Stephen knows Loki isn’t wrong on the last part. He grumbles, “Your species has a skewed notion of age.”

“It’s far from the only thing,” Loki replies dryly. His thumb scales the inside of Stephen’s wrist and up to the heel of his palm. “I don’t like living in someone’s debt,” he repeats. “Whether they’re an infant or not.”

Loki’s seriousness about the matter isn’t expected. Stephen hasn’t lied, he understands now that Loki’s attack against New York was Thanos’, not his own. But, though no longer an imminent threat, Stephen also knows Loki to be vain and self-serving. He imagines it’s that vanity that won’t let him accept Stephen’s gesture without an attempt at repayment. Whatever the reason, Stephen supposes he appreciates it.

“I’m fine,” Stephen tells him.

“You’re not,” Loki says. “Were you half the sorcerer you believe yourself to be, you would see it as plainly as I do.”

“I do see it,” Stephen counters. “And I’m fine. I did what I had to do. For selfish reasons, might I add. I need you in New Asgard. And someday, you might be useful in protecting this planet.”

Loki frowns at him, green eyes dark even so close to the sun-filled window. “Perhaps,” he allows.

Then, he surges forward. It’s sudden, too sudden, and Stephen finds Loki’s free hand on his forehead. He starts to tear back, to snarl at him to get the hell off, but his eyes roll back, and-

_** The battlefield is cold. In the haze of victory, one would think they would be able to feel the sun. But it’s cold, the dust lays heavy, and the weight of all they lost and found sits like a semi-truck on his chest._

_** The first time Stephen asks after Thor’s brother, it’s as a passing curiosity. In his efforts to gather allies for the final battle, he personally sees most of those who returned. But there is no sign of Loki. It is the Asgardian warrior known as the Valkyrie who tells him. “He was gone before the Snap,” she says. “Never mention it to Thor. Ever. Or you’ll hear from me.”_

_** It’s only after Stephen’s return to the city that he remembers. The future he saw, the single chance of their planet surviving. Loki was alive and well in that future. But Thanos is gone. How can that be, if Loki wasn’t there?_

_But Stephen remembers, Loki wasn’t on the battlefield in the single future Stephen saw. He was in the Sanctum with Stephen. Loki was holding his hand. Why would Loki ever hold Stephen’s hand unless he meant to stick a knife through it?_

_** Research. So much research. Sleepless nights and long, dragging days. Book after book. Scroll after scroll. Stephen goes back to the site of his training and takes advantage of Wong’s massive library. (This time with Wong’s permission.) He even tries, unsuccessfully, to contact Karl. The way things left off with his old mentor and friend still worries Stephen, but he has no time to mend things. Stephen needs to figure this out. It’s all up to him._

_** Earth’s texts prove unhelpful. Stephen has to search elsewhere. He travels. He crosses dimensions. He knocks on doors that he was always warned never to disturb._

_** "I’ve got it,” Stephen tells the Valkyrie by phone. He hasn’t slept in almost a week, and his ragged voice betrays the fact._

_There is a long pause on the other end. Then, a sigh. “Don’t tell Thor until it’s done. He’s doing well, but… Make sure it works, Strange.”_

_** Stephen knew it would hurt. He knew what the spell called for, and he knows what that energy does. His hands will never heal. Even at his strongest, he feels them shake, or he wakes with a cramp through his finger joints. But to sever a piece of his own energy, to cut out a part trained to protect his biggest liability? Stephen knew it would hurt._

_And it hurts. It hurts like his arms are being severed from his body. It hurts like someone has a suction drain to his core and wants to vacuum out every shred of life under his skin. It hurts like a repeated bludgeon over the head. Like he’s bleeding out from severed arteries. Like his heart is going to explode._

_Did he see himself in that final future? Stephen tries to remember. He saw Loki with him in the Sanctum. And, later, he saw Loki with other friends and allies. Stephen cannot recall himself among them. Maybe his presence was implied, as the one viewing the future, a participant and spectator at once._

_Or maybe he’s glimpsed a future that he won’t be a part of. Maybe rejuvenating Loki will take Stephen’s life._

_Stephen has arms extended, tense and pulsing energy. He can’t feel the blood dripping from his nose or sliding from his ears. There is too much else to feel. Too many other parts of him breaking down._

_Maybe it’s alright if he goes. As long as the world survives, Stephen will have done the Ancient One proud. He’s left things in Wong’s capable hands. The Avengers still live, and whatever purpose Loki will serve? Stephen is making sure he’ll serve it, even if it takes his own life._

_Something shatters, and everything is agony. Pain splinters through his arms and tears through his hands. It’s like waking up in the hospital again looking like Frankenstein’s monster. It hurts. Everything hurts, and Stephen isn’t strong enough to take it. No matter how powerful he becomes, the years of study and practice, at the end of the day he’s still human. He bleeds, he hurts, and it’s too much for a mortal body to hold. It’s too much. Stephen can only hope this will be worth it. And-_

Stephen tears from under Loki’s hand. He breathes hard and fast, eyes darting around.

It takes him a moment to realize, and when he does he turns on Loki. Phantom pain is still very real for a mind recently probed. Stephen’s arms are on fire, and his hands won’t stop shaking. “Get out,” he says.

Loki returns his furious look in equal measure. “I’m going to fix it,” he counters.

“You’re going to get out,” Stephen fires back. He tries to rip his hand from Loki’s grasp, but he’s weak, and his hands are beyond reasoning with. His fingers spasm between Loki’s, and pain flares up Stephen’s arm.

With a huff, Loki snatches Stephen’s other hand from his side. He glares down at them sandwiched between his own. By the look Loki has on, he means to knock Stephen’s hands off his wrists by glare alone.

A soft glow pulses from his fingertips, like a single candle flame. It weaves between Stephen’s fingers like thread, knotting across the raised scars.

The shaking stops.

The pain ebbs like a wave receding back to the ocean.

Until the hurt fades, Stephen doesn’t realize how much strength it was taking up. He feels tired and off-balance, and he shoots an accusing look at Loki.

Loki makes eye contact long enough to snort. “That weakness is all you,” he says. “I’m not the one who wrung your energy out for the sake of a spell you had no hope of harnessing.” The light fades, replaced by the warm pressure of Loki’s hands around his. “This is temporary,” he says. “The greater issue is the life force. I can fix it, but I’ll need time. You may not have everything I need here.”

“Thank you.” The words feel odd in Stephen’s mouth, and even odder said to someone who last tried to charge Stephen with daggers. “But I don’t need you to-”

“I plan to do this with or without your cooperation,” Loki interrupts. “It would be far easier with, so I suggest you reconsider.”

Stephen takes in the sight of his hands between Loki’s. The scars raised in deep red, puffy lines covered easily by each of Loki’s long, slender fingers.

“I didn’t do what I did expecting to be fixed at the end,” Stephen says.

When Loki meets his gaze, his expression is wry. “Neither did I,” he replies. “Yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” Stephen echoes.

It takes a moment for his face to harden with realization. “Does that mean you’re expecting to stay here?” he asks.

Loki’s grin is answer enough. Stephen sighs.

***

For all Loki’s mirth over his intentions to stick around, Stephen does not see him all that much. Loki is around, though. Stephen feels his presence, though it’s only on rare occasions that he spots Loki. The morning becomes most typical in the kitchen. While Stephen bee-lines for coffee, Loki sips tea at his counter. The book he flips through doesn't look like it's seen the light of day in 2,000 years.

Other times, Loki lurks in Stephen's study, scribbling notes with such ferocity that Stephen goes unseen.

On one bemusing afternoon, Stephen and Wong return to find Loki engaged in a heated debate with the Cloak. “ _Of course_ I’ve thought of that!” Loki barks. “What kind of simpleton do you think I am!?” The Cloak flaps in a bristling display that says it thinks Loki is the worst kind of simpleton.

Wong makes a huffed decision to stay in Hong Kong for a time right after.

For the most part, Loki exists in the shadows beyond Stephen’s sight. He’s like a ghost in the walls, haunting around him but never in front of him.

Except when the pain returns. It comes at odd, inexplicable times. Moments without stress on Stephen’s body or mind. Putting together a sandwich, flipping through books, or on his phone when it returns. Sudden and paralyzing, like a shock through the body. Stephen’s hands shake under the strain, he’s surprised to find his fingers intact given the stabbing pain. He freezes in place, tries to breathe, and reaches back for the days when he somehow lived with this pain. Before Loki grabbed his hands and something inside him shifted.

When the hurt ebbs away, it’s Loki’s hands blanketing Stephen’s. Or Loki’s hands on his shoulders. Or a single hand, long and lithe, on the small of his back.

“I’m fine,” Stephen grumbles, turning away.

But not fast enough to miss Loki’s smile. “Are you?” he taunts.

Even for a man with Stephen’s intellect, it’s difficult not to fall into the call and response of Pavlov’s dog. When he is in pain, Loki’s hands cure him. It’s only natural to find his thoughts taken up by Loki's hands. His slender but firm grasp. The concealed power of seidr under his skin.

It doesn’t help that even his thoughts can’t be his own. That he’s had Loki in his head, and that Loki is here somewhere - always here - watching. Knowing when to stroll out of the shadows. Recognizing the first sign of vulnerability on Stephen’s face. He fights the pain more and more, chews his cheek against expressing it until it's hard to stay upright. Until his heart throbs in his chest and tears burn behind his clenched eyes.

Then, the pain is gone, and Loki does not look happy. “I know how weak you are,” he mutters. “You don’t have to prove it to me.”

And the next time, green eyes hot with anger. “Pathetic,” Loki hisses. “Worthless like every other mortal.”

The next time, Loki says nothing. He stands in front of Stephen in Stephen’s bedroom. Stephen’s robes are off, leaving slacks and a tank top. Loki braces Stephen’s hands together, seizure turned to lingering twitches and tics. He stares at Stephen, and Stephen minds this more somehow than all the anger that came before it. It’s nighttime, and a single lamp lights his room.

Stephen says, “I’m fine.”

“You’re really not,” Loki replies, seconds before a kiss. His lips are thin, warm, and easy. The lack of force draws Stephen’s response; gentle coaxing makes his own mouth open in surprise. His eyes flutter to a close, weary and warm. His hands numb inside Loki’s, the pain melting away.

Stephen turns, a wet sound of contact breaking them apart. He looks at the wall, not Loki.

After a few seconds, Loki scoffs. “Suit yourself,” he says. He’s gone immediately, Stephen’s hands dropping to his sides without Loki’s to hold them up.

It wasn’t, and isn’t, smart. He knows better.

Stephen runs a tired hand through his hair. It’s all he can do to muster enough energy to climb into bed.

***

Something happens.

There’s a lot of black, and the occasional flash of light and color. A splash of sunshine. Then a blanket of night.

He’s choking at one point. Not aware of where he is, but aware of his own heart beating far too fast. Is he going into shock, he wonders? Stephen tries to pulse himself for the symptoms, but his body feels too far away. His heart is everywhere; between his temples, under his eyes, in his throat and the pit of his stomach. Stephen is aware of tension, and pain. But it isn’t his hands, it’s everywhere now. It’s his lungs and his intestines and his spine and his brain.

Every once in a while, there is a flash of warmth. A sweet ache like a happy memory. The pain recedes, only to mount again somewhere else. His hands relax, and his shoulders seize. His back slumps, and his chest grows tight. There may be something wet on Stephen’s face. He hopes it’s tears and not blood.

“ _Fight_ , damn you,” he hears. “You’re _stronger_ than this.”

Is he, though? Is he strong, or did he learn well? Stephen has always been a keen student, inquisitive and knowledge-hungry. But is he strong in the way the Ancient One was strong? Is he strong in the way Mordo tried to teach him to be? Strong like Loki, born of frost giants? Strong like the Mad Titan who almost ended it all?

“Fight, Strange! Fight _now_!”

Stephen supposes he should, if even Loki - who finds his kind to be pathetic and useless - thinks he can. So he does. He beats against the haze of pain. Fans the fires roiling through his gut. He shoves at the weight on his chest and pries at the claw of tension around his skull. He fights, and fights, and somewhere he hears a voice. Rough and ragged, wailing like a dying animal.

It’s how he should go out, if it’s his time. Screaming, twisting, and ripping through every last thread of mortality. Nothing is what Stephen used to think followed death. Nothing but bedtime stories thought up by people far more hopeful than he’s ever been.

But the Ancient One showed him so much, and Stephen’s seen more still. Galaxies and dimensions and timelines. He’s seen gods and demons, and had a bit of both take his hands.

Stephen pushes towards the cosmos. Kicking and crying. Refusing the darkness, the prison cell, the end. There’s too much left out there for him to see and know.

***

When Stephen opens his eyes, Loki is holding his hand. A single hand this time, limp fingers laced through his. Loki’s pale face looks paler than normal, sweat beaded across his brow. A few strands of his hair stick to it. The collar of his shirt is open, and Stephen sees the bruises on his neck. Faded but not gone. Loki’s eyes look redder than usual, angled down towards their joined hands.

Stephen swallows hard and musters up a squeeze. His body is weak, but it doesn’t hurt. Not his hands, not his head, not his heart. He feels heavy, like he’s still buried too deep in sleep to force his limbs to obey. Applying light pressure to Loki’s hand takes enough strength to leave Stephen dizzy.

Loki meets his eyes. “That took you far longer than it should have,” he says. But he doesn’t sound cross, not by his standards anyway.

Stephen swallows again and tries to find his voice. “Thanks,” the word cracks.

Loki rolls his eyes, but rises from his seat to settle instead on Stephen’s bedside. Their hands stay joined, and it’s Loki’s other that pushes Stephen’s sweaty hair back from his brow.

“Never do that again,” Loki says. “I’m not in the habit of saving your wretched kind, and I’m certainly not about to start.”

Stephen has plenty of good retorts in his arsenal, and he would deploy them if he had the strength. He’s like a battery needing a recharge, and he has to let the moment go. A slow blink of tired eyes, and a sigh under Loki’s hands.

Loki leans down to kiss him. Stephen can barely respond, only a flutter of response. But it’s enough to earn a twitch of a smile. Then, two fingers tap Stephen’s temple, and the best sleep of his life takes him.


End file.
